You Hope It's Not The Last Time
by intextrovert
Summary: "It's a surreal feeling, being back in Lima again. Of course you would come here for graduation, you wouldn't miss it for the world, but at the same time – when you walked out of school after your talk with Brittany all those months ago it had felt so final. McKinley High was officially a closed chapter. Almost. It will definitely be closed after today."


**Author's note:**

**My take on how I want season four to end, Brittana-wise.  
(Well not what I want-want, but what I dare to hope for in my wildest dreams.)**

**One-shot, for now. Follows canon until 4x17.  
I'm not american so I have no idea how the education system works or graduation ceremonies actually go, I've just gathered what I know from movies and stuff. Sorry for any mistakes. And sorry about the angst.  
**

**I do not own Glee, I only have a lot of feels about it.**

* * *

Artie rolls up, his grin as wide as ever, and you can't help but cat call. Sure, you've hated his guts from time to time, especially during those awful months in junior year, but you're happy for him now. You heard from Tina that he'd gotten accepted to some fancy film producing program at one of the schools in NY (you can't remember which one) so maybe you'll see him around in the fall. Just to, you know, show him around a little.

(You will never tell them, but Kurt and Rachel truly were saviors when you showed up on their doorstep all of a sudden. You wouldn't have lasted three days in New York without them.)

Soon thereafter, Blaine walks on stage, receiving his diploma. You grasp Kurt's hand a little harder. You don't look at him, nor hear his sigh due to the applause, but you feel him shiver a little. Things are still awkward between them as far as you can tell, and Kurt is with Adam, but you know they speak on the phone from time to time, and had spent time together when Kurt visited his father a few weeks ago.

It's a surreal feeling, being back in Lima again. Of course you would come here for graduation, you wouldn't miss it for the world, but at the same time – when you walked out of the auditorium after your talk with Brittany all those months ago it had felt so final.

McKinley High was officially a closed chapter.  
Almost.

It will definitely be closed after today. At least there will be nothing left for you.

You look over at Rachel and Quinn, standing to your right. Rachel is already on the verge of tears and you're a bit confused as to why. Sure, it's her Glee club friends too but the ones closest to her has graduated already. Quinn pats her shoulder and sends you a slightly displeased look when Rachel sniffles loudly.

You have to admit thing were a bit weird between you and Quinn after the not-a-wedding. It would have been even stranger if it hadn't been. The morning after you hooked up again, then showered separately, hardly spoke a word to each other and left Lima on different flights. She came to New York about a month later though, after the whole Rachel/Brody/Finn/pregnancy scare-drama. Not to hang with you, no, apparently Rachel had invited her over for the weekend.

You hadn't seen that one coming, you'e still not sure as to when Rachel and Quinn started to get along for real, but the five of you (Kurt and Adam joined, naturally) had a surprisingly good time.  
Of course you all got shitfaced one night at Callbacks and Quinn thought it was a great idea to spill the beans about your hook-up for some reason, which caused Kurt to let out a squeal so high-pitched you were surprised the glass you held was still intact. The he called her Fabgay the rest of the weekend, and you had to bite your tongue to not follow his example.

Rachel was strangely snarky towards you about the whole ordeal, muttering stuff about how as roommates you were obliged to tell each other about things like that, but once she realized it had indeed been a one- (okay three) time thing she went back to normal. Or as normal as a Broadway-obsessed Hobbit can be.

You and Quinn had time to talk that weekend too, and there was no doubts from either of you about why it had happened. You were (are) both lonely and sometimes you just need a familiar face and some nearness. Plus, for a bicurious first-timer she had been surprisingly good in bed. Not that you have a lot of girls to compare with, but still.

A few minutes later, Tina walks on stage with a cheshire cat-grin and you applaud loudly. You and Tina have actually kept in touch over the year, not only because she's McKinley High's most ambitious gossip but because you actually have had stuff to talk about. She's still not over Mike, not that she would ever admit it but you know she's not, and you and Brittany are.. well, you and Brittany. Tina have been the only one here in Lima you've wanted to talk to on a regular basis apart from Brittany.

Plus you almost died of laughter when she finally confessed her fag hag-stint with Blaine.  
You shudder involuntarily at that thought because as nice as Blaine is, you can't imagine being attracted to him. But then again, you're gay and Tina's not.  
(You may also have asked Tina to tell you if Brittany seemed to be struggling with school. Maybe.)

If you hadn't known you probably wouldn't have noticed it, but your stomach churns unpleasantly when Figgins goes directly from Etherington, Daniel (who you have never even noticed) to Faber, Tanya (a pain in the ass Cheerio who made out with Brittany at a party sophomore year, which means she'll be on your shitlist forever).

Sam is not graduating. Not that you're particulary surprised because sweet as he can be, he's all muscle and not a lot of brain. No, scratch that. Too kind. There may have been a time when you would have felt sorry for him, like last year but not now. Not when he got together with Brittany and thought eating cheerios off the floor was romantic. Maybe before he fake-married her, and before he was surprised when she aced her SAT's and before he was an overall narcissistic douche. But not now.  
Deep down you wish him well, to some extent, but you can't bring yourself to feeling sorry for him, you simply can't.

Kurt squeezes your hand and looks at you like he knows what you're thinking. You're pretty sure he doesn't, though.

You will always blame yourself to some extent.  
Senior year was such a mess with all the Glee club drama, Quinn getting hit by a truck, Finn outing you (and Brittany – everyone else seem to forget that it affected her too) and getting away with it, your abuela disowning you, your parents surprisingly not doing the same. Looking back you have no idea how you made it through the whole year, and you're certain that you wouldn't have if it wasn't for Brittany.

She was there, the whole time, talking your and her parents into letting you continue with your sleepovers even during school days because she knew you couldn't fall asleep alone.  
(Your parents' grudgingly approved, and you remember Mr. Pierce muttering "at least they can't get each other pregnant" when he thought no one was listening.)

She somehow got even the dumbest, most resilient jocks to shut up with their lesbian "jokes" when you were to tired of it to come up with a snarky reply. She got you a scholarship, and even though it turned out to be the wrong thing for you, you are forever grateful.  
Admittedly, the so-called sextape might have been a bit too much, at least when she told you, but thanks to Lord Tubbington falling asleep in front of the camera once things started to get interesting, no one could see anything but fur so it didn't matter much. Puck's face when he first heard about it was hilarious though. (Needless to say he was very disappointed.)

Rachel nudges you and take you back to reality.

"What?"  
"Don't fall asleep, it's rude!" she whispers loudly.  
"I wasn't, I just.." you don't finish the sentence because you're not sure what you're doing exactly.

Reminiscing maybe.

Figgins calls out "Hanson, Nathaniel" and you zone out again.

You should have noticed.  
You were together constantly, only ever sleeping apart once or twice a week. You had almost all the same extracurriculars, most of your classes together (You took a couple of AP classes that Brittany didn't and she had student council but still), a close-knit social circle, you should have noticed that she was failing. You even did your homework together most nights. Or tried. You usually lost focus and started making out instead, but that's not the point.

To this day you don't understand how she managed to hide it from you until it was too late.  
And once you found out, it was like she didn't even want to graduate, like she had given up. You still don't get it, and it kills you.  
She should have been up on that stage with you a year ago. But she wasn't. And ever since you left for Louisville, things have been a downward spiral for the two of you.

You're still not sure whether breaking up was the right or wrong thing to do, but it's even farther to New York and even though you've stayed in touch via texts and the occasional Skype-session since the last time you were in Lima, it's not enough.  
It will never be enough.

Not having Brittany hurts like hell, it's a wound unable of healing, but having her but being hundreds of miles apart hurts just as bad.  
Maybe it's better this way.

Maybe you'll be able to get over her and go back to just being friends, you tell yourself that a lot but you don't believe it. It's been years since you were only friends. Hell, the first time Brittany kissed you was at a cheer camp the summer before you turned fourteen. And even though it took years for you to be honest about your feelings, you've wanted her ever since. Her and no-one else.

She's your match, your soulmate, and it's scary as hell.

Sometimes you allow yourself to wonder what would have happened if you and Brittany had met when you were in your mid-twenties instead, like three or four years from now.  
Would you fall in love just the same, or are your growing up together a necessary foundation for your love?  
You don't wanna know. But on days like this one, you can't help that you're wondering.

To be honest, you haven't even told her you're coming. She should know you are though, because you would never ever miss it (you may have threatened slash bribed two of your co-workers to cover a few of your shifts so you could get off work long enough to come here).

Kurt, Quinn and Rachel hasn't told her either because you asked them not to tell.  
But really, she should know.

Your heart starts to beat like crazy when Figgins says the first name that begins with P, and Kurt puts his arm around your shoulder. You feel the tears like a liquid threat in the corners of your eyes but you can't even be bothered to blink them away.  
Rachel squeezes your right hand, hard, comforting, and you can feel Quinn reaching over your tiny roommate to put a hand on your shoulder.

No one says anything, and your breath hitches and your heart feels like it's gonna stop or explode when principal Figgins clears his throat before declaring,

"Pierce, Brittany".

And then you can't hold back any more.

You know the tears streaming down your face will ruin your make-up, you're vaguely aware of the fact that what you're doing right now cannot be described as anything but ugly sobbing but you don't care.  
She made it.  
She made it, all by herself and you're so proud and happy-sad that you don't know what to do. You don't clap, you don't cheer, you just stand there, crying, awkwardly embraced by your friends in a sea of half-strangers.

She's bouncing, skipping across the stage in her red gown and dorky hat, waving excitedly at her family that you know are standing a few rows in front and to the left from where you are.  
She's perfect, and your heart breaks all over again.

A few minutes later it's over and everyone makes their way out of the gymnasium. After a quick visit to the bathroom, that for some reason have Quinn and Rachel reminiscing about their junior year slap-fest, your face is mascara free and you walk out on the sunny quad.

The four of you stick together and search out your former Glee friends, one by one to congratulate.  
Blaine and Artie both tell you that the current New Directions, and the old ones who are in town, are going to meet up at Tina's place later in the evening to celebrate. Maybe you should feel hesitant about that but you can't wait to go. You've missed most of them, and you wanna see how Marley is doing. Last time you met her she was a mess, but then again, so were you.  
You still are. But you hope Marley's doing better.

Your steps grow unsure and slow when you spot Brittany's dad in the crowd. Mr. Pierce is tall, about the same height as Finn, and towering over his blonde family. Brittany's older brother Jonathan is towering too, he's grown taller and broader since you last saw him, but you guess that's what happens to college football players.

"Come on, Santana, don't be a coward." Quinn urges you on, pulling your elbow.  
You swallow and try to increase the pace of your feet, squeezing through the crowd of more or less unknown people. Then, suddenly you reach space that is the Pierce family circle and you stop, hovering uncertainly behind Quinn and next to one of Brittany's aunts.  
Brittany is hugging one of her younger cousins but nearly drops the kid when she sees Quinn, her face lighting up like a summer morning.

"Quinn!" she squeals, "I didn't know if you would come!"  
"Of course I would," Quinn replies and half-runs to embrace Brittany. You try to sneak behind Brittany's aunt, for some reason you want to just look at her a little longer without being seen, and Rachel and Kurt moves past you.  
"Oh my god you guys!" Brittany nearly shouts when she spots your roommates, enveloping them both in a group hug, nearly suffocating Rachel in the process.  
"I can't.. can't believe it," she stutters, looking at your three friends like they're some kind of saints or aliens or other miracle. Then her smile fades a little, the sparkle in her eyes dissappearing.

"Did.. is.." she begins, her gaze fluttering between Quinn, Kurt and Rachel, and your heart breaks once more when you realize what she's afraid to ask. She's doubting you. You can see that she swallows before she gathers her words. "Is Santana here too?" she asks quietly, and the sadness in her voice nearly crushes you on the spot. All you want to do is run to her and tell her how proud you are and that you love her, but your feet are glued to the ground,

Rachel's nearly bouncing when she exclaims "Of course she is, she was right behind us a minute ago," and you swear the way Brittany's face lights up again is pure magic. She lifts her gaze, looking around, and then her eyes meet yours and you have never felt more broken yet at the same time more complete.

She doesn't say anything, she doesn't run towards you like people do in those cheesy movies she aways made you watch and that you secretly started liking. She just lets go of Kurt and walks the seven steps to where you're standing.

Your hands are fidgeting, unsure of whether to reach out and touch her or not. She's real. She's here. You haven't spoken in over a month and now you're dumbstruck because you don't know where to begin.

"S.." she whispers, cupping your cheek, wiping away what you assume is a forgotten smudge of mascara. Or a tear, you have no idea.  
"Hi Britt," you reply, begging your voice not to crack.  
She smiles at you then, wider and wider before hugging you like only she does – closer than what should be possible.  
"I made it," she mumbles in your hair, and all you can do is nod weakly and hold her even tighter.  
You don't ever want to let go.

Eventually you have too, though. Brittany is heading home to have dinner with the Pierce clan (you swear her cousins seems to multiply inbetween every time you see them) and you are eating at Breadstix with the others before going to Tina's.

She holds your hand while the five of you finalize your plans for the night, fingers entwined and her thumb moving soothingly across your wrist and the back of your hand.. It's glorious, and confusing, and you haven't had this many butterflies in your stomach in almost a year.

"See you later, Santana," she says and lets you go with a final hug.

**#-#-#-#-#**

It's much later, the sun is almost down now, and you're sitting on a bench in Tina's backyard watching the sky fade from pink to purple. Except you aren't watching the sky, not anymore.  
Instead you're looking at Brittany and Ryder, out-playing the Puckerman brothers in a game of street basket.

"We're gonna miss her, you know," Marley says and takes a sip from her red cup.  
Even the cups makes you think about Brittany, and the song she made up in New York. It feels like a lifetime ago.

"She's been an amazing friend, she even talked sense into Kitty," the scrawny girl adds, and once again you feel so proud.  
Marley is doing much better now, of course she's still with that jackass younger version of Puck, but she's not see-through like the last time you saw her. And she seems to be less of a pushover too.

"I'm gonna miss her too," you admit quietly.

**#-#-#-#-#**

When you arrived at Tina's everything had gotten blurry for a while, and not only because Mike demanded you all do body shots "for old times sake" and the combination of Brittany's neck and tequila was a foolproof way of making your head spin.  
No, it was mostly because everyone was there. All the old ones, and the newbies, and even Mr. Schue and Emma dropped by to say hi.

For an hour or so, all you did was hug people and listen to short recaps of what had happened since you last saw each other, and telling your own story of Louisville and New York.  
Tina had somehow managed to get rid of her usually overbearing parents, and Puck and Finn made sure there was an endless supply of drinks. You avoided Trouty Mouth and everything felt surprisingly good.  
Then Brittany came up to you again, wearing that light blue summer dress that showed off more leg than what should be legal, and your brain short-circuited a little.

"Can we talk?"  
Of course you could, when did you ever deny her anything? Except that day last fall, and back and forth during high school, but that was not the point. You weren't gonna think about that now.

She took your hand and the two of you walked away from the terrace to a secluded corner at the far end of the garden. You had ditched your heels a while ago and the grass was dewey and cool under your feet.

"It's so good to see you," Brittany said.  
"Me too. And I'm sorry I haven't stayed in touch much recently, I just, I've been working my ass off the last few months. My hours are crazy, I swear I'm more nocturnal than ever."  
"It's okay, Santana. I've been busy too."

You knew. She'd been studying, choreographing for Glee and doing Fondue For Two, and once again you smiled because of that inexplicable pride and affection. You told her, again, how proud you were, and she rewarded you with a smile and one of those very special hugs in return.

Then she let you go and both of you fell silent for a while, standing opposite each other, holding hands. You gazed up at her, drowning in her cerulean eyes like so many times before.

"So, what happens now?" you asked hesitantly after a few minutes of silence.  
"Well, we can go back to the others, have a few more drinks, and dance and.."  
You interrupted her with a laugh, well knowing that she was joking. One of the many things a lot of people didn't get – half of the time Brittany seemed stupid or confused she was just deadpanning. She had the dryest humor of anyone you knew, and in one way you loved that not everybody understood her like you.

She didn't break eye contact and then she spoke again.

"I broke up with Sam."  
You flinched involuntarily, you had no idea. Sure, they hadn't been around each other much tonight and you hadn't seen him at school but you had no idea that they were over. You had avoided him as much as you could tonight too.

"What? When?"  
"Little over a month ago. It just wasn't working. He's nice and all but he was more of a friend with benefits than a boyfriend to me. He hung out with Blaine and I was with the girls and I realized that all we did when it was just the two of us was hook up. We didn't have much in common, plus he's gonna repeat senior year."  
You frowned when she mentioned them having sex, that was more than you and Sam ever did and you don't wanna think about him naked with Brittany, touching her, but you push the mental images away quickly.

"How come I didn't know?" you asked.  
Brittany looked down, guiltily, and rubbed one foot over the other.

"I told them not to tell."  
"But what? Why? Who?"  
"Kurt, Quinn and Rachel. And Tina too."  
You just looked at her, confused.

"I wanted to tell you myself, eventually," she continued. "I don't know why really, maybe because it felt so shitty when Tina told you when Sam and I had gotten together. I didn't want you to find out through gossip."  
You could understand that, and what change would it have made, really? She was in Lima at the time, you were in New York. It's not like you could have come running to console her, if she even had needed to. To be honest she seemed unaffected by it, and you couldn't help but think that that was a good thing. But you asked anyway, just to make sure.

"Are you okay?"  
"Of course I am," she said. Then she fell silent and looked at you softly before she spoke again.

"There's another thing though. I got admitted to UCLA."  
"You did what?! When? How? Oh my god, Brittany, that's great!" you shouted and attacked her with a hug.

"Well, you know I did really good on my SAT's, and I've been working a lot with Fondue For Two lately, so Miss Pillsbury helped me to look up film schools, and I applied to a bunch, and then I got in," she said, looking away in an attempt to hide her proud smile.  
"You're a genius, Brittany," you laughed and let go of your hug and took her hand instead, doing that light tickle to make her tangle her fingers with yours. "I've always known that."  
"Thanks, I know. You've always believed in me San."

"So you're moving to California at the end of the summer?" you asked then, and felt your heart break with every syllable. Not that you had expected her to be in New York anytime soon, hell, a few minutes ago you thought she was gonna stay here in Lima with Trouty, but Los Angeles. That's far.

"Yeah, I am. Gonna live in a dorm on campus and all that. It's gonna be like in all the movies we watched when we were younger."  
"I'm.. I don't know what to say. I'm so happy for you, Britt," you choked out and grasped her hand. No matter that it hurt, you meant every word.

"Thanks," she smiled. "But what about you? Are you gonna stay in New York?"  
"Yeah, for now. Living with Hummelberry ain't that bad, and I get shitloads of tips where I work. So I'm probably gonna stay there until I figure out what I wanna do. Maybe find some singing gig, or give in to Rachel's nagging about off-Broadway auditions."

"I'm glad for you San. Who would have thought you'd be shacking up with Lady Hummel and the Hobbit a year ago, huh?" Brittany teased.  
"Oh you, just shut up!"

You poked her in the side, almost causing a tickling fight, but then Tina came and told you that everybody was gathering for the obligatory karaoke (Rachel's idea), so you calmed down and walked back, entwining Brittany's pinky with your own.

Things were changing, but this was the last night with the gang, you were allowed to be nostalgic.

**#-#-#-#-#**

"Yes!" Ryder shout after scoring and defeating Puck and Jake with 11-5. He bro-hugs Brittany who comes skipping over to where you and Marley are sitting. She downs the rest of your drink before sitting down between you. You frown, uselessly, because the second she bops your nose you're all sunshine and rainbows again.  
She always makes you useless.

"You want a refill?" you ask, and both Brittany and Marley nods.  
Quinn and Rachel are in the kitchen, arguing over which kinds of liquor goes in a Long Island Ice Tea. You just roll your eyes at them and quickly makes two vodka cranberries and grab a beer for yourself.  
When you're about to make it out the back door you meet Brittany with Marley in tow, heading towards the living room now doubling as a dancefloor.

"Come on Santana," Marley shouts and grabs your hand, almost spilling your beer in the process. You don't even have the time to get annoyed when you hear the eerily familiar guitar intro of Light Up The World. Someone must have brought the old New Directions demos. Super cheesy but nevermind. Within second's everybody's crammed in the living room, bouncing around and singing like maniacs. You dance with Puck, or at least he tries. Brittany and Mike are moving so fast you can hardly make out their movements and Sugar have grabbed Artie's chair and are running in circles around the rest of you.

It's exhausting, and just what you need.  
Every song that comes on are from your old setlists, but nobody cares about the choreography or singing the right tune, you just dance and dance and dance.

It's probably inevitable, because you've always been like two magnets, but it doesn't take long before you are dancing close to Brittany, ignoring everybody else, losing yourself in the movement of her hips, her hand on the small of your back, her silky smooth legs constantly touching yours.  
Deep down you know this might be the last time the two of you will ever dance like this, so you're sure as hell gonna cherish every second of it.

A few hours later, most of the group are sprawled on the carpet and the sofa in Tina's living room, more or less shitfaced and chatting idly. You're lying with your head in Brittany's lap. She's making small braids everywhere in your hair but they fall loose again almost right away. Nevertheless her fingers in your hair sends a steady flow of goosebumps down your spine.

She knows it. You know it.  
You always get goosebumps hwen she does that.

You shut your eyes and just listens to the others talking. You barely register what they're saying but it feels nice to be here, familiar and shit. But you kind of have to fight back sleep now, the alcohol and excitement of the day finally getting to you.

"Britt-Britt, I'm falling asleep," you murmur.  
She smooths out your hair before replying. "You wanna go home, San?"  
You just nod and lift your head from her lap.

"We're taking off guys," Brittany says lowly to the others, trying to not wake those who have fallen asleep.  
"Okay. Sweet dreams you two," Tina says. "See you around Britt, and I'll call you Santana."  
"Byyye, T," you yawn. When you walk out you can't help but notice the way Sam pointedly refuses to acknowledge you. It surprises you that you don't feel anything at all, not even anger, about that.

You stop once you're on the porch. Both of you live close to Tina, but in opposite directions, and you're not sure whether Brittany wants to walk you home, say bye here or be walked home.  
Or if she wants both of you to go back to the same place.  
You hardly even dare to hope for it, the mere thought of falling asleep in Brittany's arms is too much to handle.

"Sooo.." you say and shuffle your feet awkwardly.  
"So." Brittany echoes, her eyes searching your face for the answers you don't have.

You're just about to give her a goodnight kiss and walk away just to be done with it when you hear a giggle from around the corner of the house.  
A quick look at Brittany and both of you switch into stealth-mode, playfuly tip-toeing along the house in search of the giggles.

What you see when you stick your head around the corner should surprise you, really, but it doesn't. It makes total sense, and you have to choke back a laughter.  
Brittany looks to, and then the two of you are tiptoeing back to the sidewalk, trying not to squeal in delight.

You're about a block away when Brittany finally whispers "I knew it!"  
"You did?"  
"Okay, maybe not, but I'm not surprised. There's not that much difference between anger and sexual frustration you know."

You're not sure if you know but you nod anyway. And what the heck, you know from experience that Quinn's a pretty good lay, and Rachel could definitely do with someone better than Finn or human Ken doll who turned out to be a gigolo.

"I'm never gonna let them hear the end of this," you giggle. "Damn, I should have taken a picture."  
"Already did," Brittany smirks and tap her phone a couple of times to reveal a blurry but recognisable picture of Berry having pushed Quinn up against a wall.  
"Yes! You have to text it to them tomorrow morning. Quinn's gonna flip her shit," you say.  
"You know it."

You're heading in the direction of Brittany's house now, and you decide to follow her the whole way. You're not assuming anything really, but it would be strange to say goodbye when you're already halfway there.

**#-#-#-#-#**

"Do you wanna come in?"  
"Britt, is that a good idea?"  
"I don't care. I just wanna fall asleep with you. I never sleep as good as when I'm with you. Please."

And of course you crumble, she doesn't even have to bring out the pout. Of course you walk as silent as you can up her creaking stairs, of course you let her strip you of the clothes you wear, of cours you return the favor.  
Of course you're a mess of butterflies and feelings from her careful fingertips on your skin.

You end up under Brittany's flower-patterned sheets, arms and legs tangled, your nose buried in the crook of her neck and everything you smell is Brittany Brittany Brittany. You're only wearing panties but you haven't done anything. Just a few chaste kisses before you curl close to each other and fall asleep. Lying there, skin to skin, feeling her heartbeat slow down and her body turn soft and sleepy is more than enough. You haven't felt this whole in months.

It's sunrise outside when you wake up, you don't open your eyes but you can tell because it's not really dark under your closed eyelids. You have moved around during the night and Brittany is lying half on top of you now, you can feel light puffs of breath on your neck everythine she exhales.  
She's fast asleep and unconciously millimeters from kissing you.  
Surreal.

You lie still on your back, revelling in the feeling of her naked body anchoring you to the mattress. Her leg is draped over yours, you feel the softness of her breasts pushing into you with every breath she takes.  
You'll remember this morning forever.

Slowly, you open your eyes and sit up a little, taking in every detail of the girl sleeping soundly with you as a mattress. Every freckle, every scar, the unique color of her smooth skin. It's almost shimmering in the pale morning light. The way her lower lip pouts when she mumbles in her sleep. She's so perfect it hurts.

Brittany's been your whole world for so many years, your anchor, the undisputed center of your universe. No one gets you like she does, but you have to let her go now.

By this time tomorrow you'll be back in New York, you couldn't afford to take more than three days off.  
You assume you could go back to Lima once more later in the summer, but what good would it do? It would only push back the inevitable a little more. The saying goodbye.  
Better to do it now and try to move on.

You've tried the long-distance thing, and it failed. You're not going there again. Better to try to stay in touch and at least save your friendship. Maybe you can visit Los Angeles some time in the fall. Maybe.

You don't realize you're crying until you hear the faint thud of a teardrop against the light blue sheet.  
You scoot back down next to Brittany and bury your face in her hair, taking deep breaths like her scent is the only kind of oxygen able to keep you alive.

She's waking up now, you can hear it, her breathing has changed. Part of you are ashamed that you're crying, but your need and desperation are taking over. You kiss her on the forehead, pepper her face with butterfly kisses. Eyelids, cheeks, the tip of her nose.  
Silent tears keep trickling down your face.

"Mmmh, San. Feels good," Brittany murmurs, but the second she opens her eyes she stiffens and cups your face in her hands.

"Are you crying?" she whispers and wipes a stray tear off your cheek. You're stubborn, shaking your head and letting out a small gasp in protest.  
"Baby don't cry, I'm still here," she tries.

It doesn't work. Because in mere hours, she won't be anymore. Between hiccups you manage to tell her that you won't be coming back to Lima again this summer, and the way her eyes turns sadder by the second hurts like a knife in your gut. She bites her quivering lower lip and it's such a flashback to that day in the choir room last fall that you cannot take it any longer.

You hesitate for a second, and then you lean in and kiss her. Slow and deep, trying to tell her everything you can't put into normal sentences.

Tell her all the dreams you had, of the two of you years from now, sharing your first own shitty apartment, at her college graduation because you've always known she'd get there, in white dresses at a beach somewhere. You don't allow yourself to think further than that. Not now. It's too painful, and you know that she knows that you always wanted to name your kid Ella if it was a girl.

You tell her with kisses that you'll never wholly let go of those dreams, even though you can't be together right now.  
Tel her that all the memories you do share are the best thing you know.  
Tell her that she's the center of your universe, your best friend.

She answers right away, her hands grabbing your hips, her tongue meeting yours.  
You gasp for air when she shuffles around and her thigh presses between yours. The wave of heat that rushes thorugh your veins are insane. Your body moves on instinct now, the most basic, sincere form of communication there is when it comes to you and Brittany. You don't need words, you just need her skin on yours.

She's pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck now, and you whimper and shiver at her touch. Her hands are everywhere – on your thighs, your breasts, your hips. She swirls her tongue over your nipples, first one, then the other, and you grab her hand, holding on to it like it's the only solid thing in the world. It is, to you.

She kisses her way down your body, never letting go of your hand. Slowly, she pushes your panties down your legs and when you feel her warm breath on your core you are on the verge of tears again. Pictures and bits of memories flash on the inside of your closed eyelids, your self-torturing brain rewinding to this very bed, a monday evening in september, four years ago.

You had been so scared. Scared and exhausted from burying your burning desire, scared of not being enough, scared of losing her once you'd gone the whole way. Still, you surrendered.

You'll never forget the way she touched you that day, the care and awe in her eyes, the way her fingertips managed to set your whole world on fire. The way she held you close when you gasped her name as your whole world shattered and became whole again.  
She does the exact same thing now. She has always done.

Slowly, your breathing goes back to normal. Brittany is drawing hearts and flowers on your lower abdomen, causing small aftershocks every once in a while.

"I'll love you forever," you whisper.  
"I'll love you too."

You still haven't let go of her hand when you move so you're half on top of her. You're straddling her hips, and she just looks at you with the bluest eyes you'll ever see. With a fingertip you connect-the-dots with the freckles on her chest and stomach. She giggles, but there's an undertone of sadness in her voice.  
She's a goddess and you tell her over and over again, with words, with touch.

If this ends up being the last time you'll be this close to her, you'll cherish every second of it.  
(God, you hope you're wrong.)

Her legs wrap around your waist as you push into her, slowly, you want to make this last as long as possible. Forever might be long enough, but she won't last that long. You know her tell-tale signs.  
You kiss her deeply and bury your head in the crook of her neck, panting sweet nothings into her ear over and over again.

The soft noises she makes when you curl your fingers deep inside her sends a flood of warmth crashing through your body. She's close, shivering, and seconds later she arches her back with your name on her lips.

You stay in bed for hours, making small talk and slumbering in each others arms. You have a flight back to New York to catch in the evening, and you suppose your parents want to see you for at least an hour or so, because both of them has texted you, telling you to come home for lunch.  
Brittany sends the picture from last night to both Quinn and Rachel but she doesn't get any replies. You're both convinced the only reason they're not answering is because they're still having sex, and you actually feel weirdly happy for them, should that be the case.

Still, you make sure that Brittany sends the picture to you too, for blackmailing purposes.

**#-#-#-#-#**

Brittany is standing on the front porch of the house that's been your second home for nearly as long as you can remember.  
There's no time for more kisses, slowly you let go of her pinky, a last chaste kiss, a vague conversation of "we'll stay in touch", "good luck in New York", "good luck in LA", "call me some time".

Your feet feel like they're made of lead when you turn and walk away. You know she'll stand there, watching you until you've turned the corner over by the auto shop. All you want to do is turn back and never leave her but you can't.

Her future is in Los Angeles now, and yours is in New York, at least for a while. Sure, you could pack up eveything and move across the country but you know that you shouldn't. Both of you need to grow on your own right now. Maybe someday you can grow together again, but not now.

You both have to learn to stand on your own two legs, even though it fucking hurts.  
This is growing up, you tell yourself over and over again. Doing the mature thing.  
But god, you hope you'll find your way back to her someday.

When you reach the corner of the last picket fence before the crossing you turn around.  
She's still watching you, and if someone else happens to hear you, you don't give a shit about it.

"Brittany, I'll always love you the most," you shout, heartbroken on a sleepy smalltown street.

Her answer comes instantly. "Proudly so."

You look at her for a few seconds before you turn around.  
The second she's out of sight the tears come.

God, you hope this wasn't the last time.

* * *

***Heartbroken sigh***

**Thoughts?**


End file.
